Verlorene Liebe
by InvisibleNinjaWizard
Summary: The title, meaning "lost love" in German is pretty self-explanatory. Italy loses his love and slowly begins his descent into madness. Very sad, and the chapters will be short and not very often.
1. A Gunshot

*Please note that I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia*

"Germany? Germany...!" The screams could be heard from three blocks away. In an alley, a small Italian knelt over a large blond man. The hole in the fabric over his heart and the pool of blood he lay in told the story.

"I-Italy..." he tried to say.

"It'll be o-okay, Germany, I promise!" Italy said frantically.

"No... I- ugh!" he winced, "I just want you to... know that I... always... loved... you..." the German said with his dying breath as he closed his eyes and slipped into eternal slumber. Not long afterwards, England and America came racing around the corner, having heard the noise, in time to see Feliciano slumped over Ludwig's body, wailing.

"Italy!" exclaimed England, "What happened?" Sobbing, the tiny brunette could only point down the alleyway at a figure, cloaked in shadows, racing away, prompting America to give chase screaming,

"Don't worry, I'm the hero, I'll catch him!" Arthur watched Alfred sprint off, then placed a consoling arm around Italy's shoulders.

"...don't..." the small man mumbled.

"I'm sorry?" England asked, leaning in closer.

"I said don't touch me!" Italy screamed, shoving him away and glaring at England with more hatred than Belarus on a bad day.

"...I-Italy..." the Brit said, backing away in surprise. Just as suddenly as it had happened, the Italian's outburst had ended and returned to grieving over his lover's corpse, now with and eerie aura surrounding him, causing England to become uneasy and turn away with his phone to call a meeting. America soon returned, panting.

"I *gasp* I couldn't catch him! *wheeze*" England looked over at him and raised a thick eyebrow at his slight paunch, causing him to blush and turn away to look at Italy, who was still sobbing wretchedly.

"Aah, Italy, if you want, you could come stay at my house until the funeral arrangements-" the American managed to mumble before being cut off. "No. I don't need your help," the brunette said through his tears.

"I'll take care of it myself, so just go," he said, wiping his eyes and nose on his cuff, pulling out his cell phone, and dialing his brother, Lovino. "H-hello, Romano? Yeah, it's me. L-listen," he said, struggling not to cry, "I need you to g-get Spain and your truck and get over here. I'm o-over in an alleyway near Austria's house. And b-bring blankets if you c-could..." he sniffed. "Oh, why? W-well... Germany's d-dead..."

And then his shoulders began to shake, and he wept.


	2. Evidence

*Please note that I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia*

Days passed, and there was little change. The coroner was called, and Germany was hauled away to await the funeral. Since Germany's death, Italy had been staying at Romano's house. On this particular day, Italy happened to be sitting on the couch mumbling German fables to himself. Just then, the doorbell rang, and was promptly answered by Romano.

"Italy, Austria's here!" the brunette called to his brother, who ignored him and continued his conversation.

"I'm terribly sorry," the aristocrat apologized, removing his coat, "but ever since Germany died, Prussia's been acting strange, and he would've come with me today, had he not run off to God-knows-where. But anyways, what can _I_ do to help?" Romano leaned in and, trying to be discreet, said,

"Well, I need you to help choose, and maybe help pay for, a casket," which, despite his efforts, made it to Italy's ears, causing him to shudder and babble louder. Austria nodded.

"Anything for my friends, Germany always spoke so kindly of you two," he said, stepping into the dining room with Romano where forms lay spread out on the table. "Now, Lovino, you know I mean well," the Austrian began when he was well out of Italy's earshot, "but shouldn't you get Italy some help? I mean..." he whispered, gesturing to the murmuring brunette on the sofa. Romano glanced at his brother with troubled eyes, then shook his head.

"No, Austria. I know Italy can handle this on his own. I know he never acts like it, but he has a brave heart," he said solemnly. Austria shrugged, then spoke,

"Well, alright, but don't blame me if-" Suddenly, the front door burst open, and in strode four men. The group was headed by America, naturally, and consisted of England, Russia, and the perpetually gun-toting Switzerland.

"Romano! Italy! We think we may have found some clues to find Germany's killer!" the American yelled, causing Italy to sob loudly. England stepped forward, shoved the blond aside, and spoke.

"We searched the whole vicinity, and found this," England said, holding up a plastic bag containing a single stand of silver hair. "We've questioned all the nations with hair of this colour and their peers. Every one of them has a solid alibi except for two. Belarus and Prussia were not at their homes on the night in question, and no one knows where they were," he said, causing Austria to furrow his brow in distress.

"No... i-it couldn't be Prussia...' he said tp no one in particular, pressing a hand to each of his temples. Russia, ignoring the dark-haired man, began to speak.

"Ve are goingk to visit each of these countries, and ve have brought along Svitzerland for some 'persuasion,'" he kol'd.

"No..." whispered a voice. Every set of eyes in the room turned to where Italy now stood. "Going tonight, before his... funeral... would disgrace his memory..." Feliciano said quietly, his eyes cast down. Switzerland was the first to speak.

"I agree. We should postpone the investigation until at least a week after the burial." Everyone nodded in agreement, including America, however reluctant. Italy wiped his eyes, then returned to the sofa and his conversation with himself as if nothing had occurred.

"Thanks for coming, guys, I appreciate it," Romano lied, waving everyone out the door. Austria followed, then turned back to faced Romano.

"Remember what I said," he murmured ominously before shambling out of the house and shutting the door behind him.


	3. The Funeral

*Please note that I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia*

Shortly after, the funeral came to pass. Romano had just finished donning his best and only suit, and Italy was sitting on the sofa stagnantly, obsessively gnawing on his fingernails.

"Don't do that Italy, you'll hurt yourself," Lovino scolded, tugging at his brother's wrist, which fell limply into his lap. Feliciano continued to stare vacantly into space. "C'mon, Italy, you need to get dressed for the funeral," the elder brother said, pulling his brother to his feet and guiding him to the bathroom. "I had Japan bring this over from your house," he said, tossing a rumpled blue suit into Italy's arms, "and don't come out until you've gotten it on. I'll help with your tie when you're done," Lovino commanded, shutting the door and leaning against the wall with a heavy sigh. Several minutes later, the door opened and Italy stepped out with the suit on. Romano, as promised, helped the brunette with his tie, then led him out the front door to a waiting black limousine.

Italy sat static on the left side, his curl brushing lightly against the window pane. Lovino glanced over concernedly at the surprisingly civil man, taking into consideration his behavior recently. The limo soon arrived at the chapel, and the Italians made their way inside. The pews were full of the other nations, all dressed in somber shades of grey. Japan stood at the front to officiate; and next to him on the altar lay the open casket, a plain, sturdy pine box. Italy swiped at his eyes and turned away to sit in the very back row in one of the many empty spots next to Russia.

"So, Italy, I see you've decided to attend," the platinum blond said. Italy nodded, looking at the flower-littered floor. "I didn't sink you vould, considering how close you two vere," he continued in his thick accent, a cruel grin creeping onto his face, "but vere you really? I mean, every time I saw him vith you, he looked frustrated and angry vith you," Ivan whispered to him as the service began. Italy dug his nails into his palm and ran his hand across his face and through his hair, tears making long tracks down his pale cheeks. "I bet he never even really loved you," the cold-hearted giant murmured to the brunette in a voice laced with undeniable malice.

"No!" Italy screamed, standing suddenly. Everyone in attendance looked back at him. "No...! Germany... Germany did love me!" he yelled at a stunned Russia, fighting back sobs. "How dare you say that!" his voice cracked, "You barely knew him!" Feliciano cried, bringing his arm back and slapping Russia hard across the face. Then he turned to face his dumbfounded audience with tears cascading down his cheeks. "I... I'm so sorry..." Italy said, a twisted smile stealing onto his face as he turned and ran out the door.


	4. Finding Italy

*Please note that I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia*

Everyone in attendance watched the Italian rush out the door with incredulous expressions. His brother, Romano, stood suddenly and ran past the rows of solemn out the doors his brother had left by. Japan, breaking the deadly silence, took initiative.

"I believe that, in light of recent events, the funeral will be postponed until further notice," he said quietly into the microphone. "I apologize for any inconvenience."

Meanwhile, Romano was racing after his brother under an austere gray sky that threatened rain. Lovino, being unable too keep up with Feliciano, slowed to a halt and rested with his hands on his knees, panting, as he watched his brother disappear around the corner. Romano decided, as the rain began to fall, the would delay the search for Italy until the following morning when, hopefully, the weather had eased up. The chestnut haired man then turned and began walking home, cursing himself for not taking America up on his offer of pilates classes. When Romano returned to his home, he stumbled into his darkened bedroom and, without bothering to remove his suit, lay his head on the pillow and fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

The day that followed was cold, the sky and angry colour closer to black than gray with more evil-looking clouds rolling in by the second. It had been raining since early evening yesterday, and the rain pelted the streets relentlessly. It was now late morning, and Romano was just waking up. Yawning and stretching, cat-like, he slid out of bed and planted his feet on the floor. He rubbed his brown eyes, then smoothed back his tangled hair, forgetting for a moment of the events that occurred the night before. But something flashed behind his eyes, and he began racing about the house. In two minutes flat, Romano was wearing clean clothes and out the door with an umbrella, his cell, and a flashlight. The storm raged on outside, the wind blowing the sheets of rain so it fell nearly sideways. In less than a minute, Lovino was soaked through. And yet, he persevered. He made his way, slowed by the unforgiving buckets of rain that fell like needles against his sopping frame, to each of Italy's regular haunts; his favourite restaurant, the Pasta Bowl, the animal shelter, Japan's house, Austria's house, even France's house. No one had seen him anywhere. As a last-ditch effort, Romano took off to the place he knew he should have looked first- the apartment in Berlin Italy had shared with Germany on holidays and weekends.

The rain fell harder now as Romano trudged endless miles in soggy boots and dripping clothes. It pounded his back like an angry masseuse, ignorant of his now useless umbrella. Finally, Romano arrived at the apartment complex and walked inside, shaking out his umbrella.

"Excuse me," the dripping Italian said to the manager in broken German," Where is the apartment that Feliciano Vargas shared with Ludwig?" he asked, glancing at the clock on the wall that told him it was already close to dinner. The man at the counter said nothing. He simply reached under the desk and pulled out a key that had a tag that read '6-D' in faded blue ink.

"Be careful, there was an awful ruckus from upstairs earlier, and I'm sure it was from that room," the manager said, handing the key over to Romano. Lovino thanked him profusely, then raced up the stairs to the sixth floor. He scanned the plates in from of the doors, stopping at 6-D. He shoved the key in the lock and turned. The door opened soundlessly, and he walked in. The apartment looked clean but lived in, obviously the work of the late Germany. Nothing had been touched, apparently, since his death. Lovino took a few tentative steps forward and began toward the master bedroom door at the end of a short corridor where he was sure his brother would be hiding. He reached the end of the hall and, knocking hesitantly on the door, Romano called,

"Italy, are you in there?" but the only reply he received was silence. "Italy?" he asked again before placing his hand on the knob and entering uneasily. The scene he entered to was shocking. His brother was slumped on the floor facing the wall. The room was a wreck; clothes were strewn everywhere, broken glass was scattered across the rug, torn photos of him and Germany covered the disheveled bed sheets. Italy turned to face his brother, his appearance appalling. Italy's hair was tangled and filthy. It hung in his empty, lifeless eyes like a ragged russet curtain, dripping with cold sweat. His fingernails had been gnawed away, leaving the tips of his fingers oozing a deep scarlet. Feliciano swiped the matted hair out of his face, leaving a crimson streak across his forehead, which stood out against his ashen skin.

"Oh, hey Romano," he said with a distorted smile, "how's it going?"


	5. Prussia's Arrival

*Please note that I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia*

"Mon Dieu! What happened here?" France shouted in surprise when he arrived at the apartment.

"You were at the funeral, you do the math, Frenchie!" cried a visibly distraught Romano, who had called France once the rain had ended as a last resort, that all the other nations' phones were off. France dragged a hand nervously across his face and massaged his temples, tied back his hair loosely with a black ribbon, and stepped into the room and towards the shuddering figure huddled in the corner.

"Feliciano?" Francis asked softly, edging closer. "We need you to come with us, okay?" he murmured, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, causing Italy to stiffen. He did not, however, back away or lash out, which both France and Romano took as a good sign. "Come on, let's get you out of here," France said sympathetically, pulling Italy to his feet where he swayed unsteadily, his eyes blank. Francis slowly guided the zombie-like waif out of the apartment, down the stairs, and into the lobby with out incident. When they did reach the lobby, however, everything began to unhinge.

Italy's eyes widened and began to dart back and forth frantically, giving him the appearance of a wounded deer. He started to shiver violently and dug his fingers into the skin of his forearm, clutching hard enough to bruise his pale flesh.

"Italy? What's wrong?" Romano asked his younger brother.

"G-Germany..." he whispered.

"What about Germany?" Lovino questioned.

"He-he's o-over there!" Italy cried, pointing vaguely to an empty chair on the other side of the room, his eyes huge and filled with hot tears. Romano looked confusedly at the place Italy had pointed to, then turned back to see his brother stumble in one direction, only to immediately turn around and crash to the floor. The manager and unlucky couple looking for a room could only stare in horror at the pitiful Italian being carried out the door.

Romano sat nervously outside of the door separating him and his brother, through which he no longer heard the thumps and wails from before. He jiggled his leg and had begun chewing on his thumbnail when a weary-looking man in a lab coat walked out, followed by two uniformed nurses carrying the unconscious Feliciano in their arms.

"Lovino Vargas?" the doctor asked. Romano nodded. "Your brother," he sad, gesturing to Italy, "Is insane, to put it quite simply. The loss of his... Ludwig, you said? Ludwig, has traumatized him in such a way that his mind has deteriorated to the point of hallucination. We had to sedate him for now, but it should wear off in a couple hours," the doctor said bluntly. Romano simply stared at him with a "well-what-the-hell-do-you-want-_me-_to-do-about-it-you-bastard?" look on his face. "We suggest that you take him to a safe environment, not your house, his, or anywhere that would remind him of Ludwig, mind you, and get him to sleep. It looks as if he hasn't slept in days," the doctor continued unhelpfully. Romano nodded like he understood, and the doctors carrying Italy helped Lovino get him out to France's waiting Cadillac in the parking lot.

"France, can Italy and I stay at your place a while?" Romano asked the scruffy blond as soon as he and his brother were in the car.

"Of course, Lovi, anything for you and your adorable brother," Francis replied, glancing creepily back at the brunette sleeping fitfully in the back seat. Romano caught this look, pulled out his phone, and dialed a number.

"Poland here! Like, what's up?" the Pole answered cheerily.

"Hi Feliks, it's Romano. Is it okay if Italy and I stay at your house a while? He's not well," Romano said, attracting an angry glare from the driver's seat.

"Oh, totally! That's okay with me, just let me, like, ask Liet real quick. _Liet, can Italy and Romano, like, stay here for a while? ...Okay, I'll tell him,"_ Romano heard him say. "It's like, totally okay!" Poland lilted in his valley girl accent. "Excellent, thank you so much Poland! We'll be there in about twenty minutes," Romano said, hanging up his phone. France sighed with disappointment, but took the hint and began the first of several turns to get to Poland's house.

When they arrived at the house, Romano thanked France profusely, who simply scoffed and drove away. Lovino shrugged, and began slowly walking up to the door, dragging Italy in his arms as the moon shone down on them. Romano set Italy down on the porch and knocked. The door was answered promptly by Lithuania, who was wearing pajamas and was obviously ready for bed. Poland ran up behind him, his blond hair dripping onto a flowered robe from a recent shower.

"Hi Romano! Do you, like, need some help?" Feliks asked, indicating Feliciano, who was yet again slumped on the ground. Romano nodded, and Lithuania and Poland stepped out to help.

"Feliks, Toris, I honestly can't thank you enough for taking us in," Romano said. "I wouldn't be able to care for Italy on my own, so this is-"

"Romano, it's totally cool, We, like, love guests!" Poland said, throwing and arm around Lithuania's shoulders.

"Like what Feliks said, we love guests, and we're always happy to help friends," Toris added with a warm smile. Romano grinned wearily back. "Your room's like, the second door on the right. We, like, put Italy on the pull-out couch in the basement," Poland said. Romano thanked them again, then shuffled off to bed.

Several hours later, Romano awoke from a restless sleep to a heavy knocking on the door. Sliding his legs out of the covers and onto the pink shag, Romano cracked the bedroom door open and peeked out at the front door. Lithuania was running, mid-yawn, to open the door, revealing Prussia silhouetted against a navy sky.

"Hello Lithuania, m-may I come in?" Gilbert asked, a worried look on his face.

"Ummm...Prussia, why are you here? It's four in the morning?" Lithuania asked, rubbing his eyes.

"I felt like I... n-needed to be here," the Prussian said quietly, surveying the room. Just then, Poland wandered in wearing Shinatty-chan pajamas.

"Toriiiiiis, come back to bed, the sheets are all cold... now..." Feliks trailed off as his partially open green eyes met Prussia's piecing but agitated red ones.

"Um, like, hi Gilbert. Is anything, like wrong?" Poland asked.

"No, I just... came by f-for a visit." he said upsettedly. "You two w-wouldn't happen to know if R-Romano and his b-brother are here, would you?" Prussia asked, brushing his silver hair away from his face.

"N-no, Gilbert." said Lithuania,

"Poland?" Prussia asked, staring at the blond.

"Like, o-of course not, Where would you, l-like, get an idea like that?" Feliks replied, mangling his words as well."

"I... can I still come in and t-take a look around?"Prussia said, walking in anyway with faltering steps. Lithuania's eyes grew large with worry.

"Ohhhh..." he said as Poland brushed past him.

"Prussia, you need to, like, totally get out!" the blond said courageously, treading forward. It was at that moment, however, Poland saw the sword Prussia had brought out of habit glinting at his side.

"Uhm, you c-can just go i-in," Poland stuttered, edging behind Lithuania, the memories of Grunwald still fresh.

Gilbert's heavy boots made a muted whump as he walked through the rooms, shaking as if afraid. Romano, still watching from his room, began to get nervous as he heard the boots hit the floor. He only managed to console himself with the fact that his brother lay sleeping downstairs.

That is, until he heard the next set of footsteps. Not the light, catlike step of Lithuania, nor the muffled shoof of Poland's slippers, or the heavy thuds of Prussia. These ones were the dragging, shambling footsteps of his brother. Lovino peered through the opening a bit more and gasped with sheer horror. Italy had awoken and come up the stairs. He now stood facing a stunned-looking Prussia. Feliciano's head was hanging down, and when he lifted it, there was no longer any hint of the happy, carefree soul that once inhabited his fragile body. It had been replaced by a look of insane, murderous rage, reflected now in the shiny metal of the pistol currently pointed at Prussia's head.


	6. A Final Shot

"I knew it was you," Italy said, drawing a shuddering breath, "The whole time, I knew it. Why else would you even try to find me?" he hissed. "You sick bastard..." he said, smirking, "Killing your own brother. Just tell me, why'd you do it? Why did you kill your little brother, Gilbert?" The room fell into a deafening silence, and the door slammed at Poland and Lithuania rushed out the door. Prussia said nothing, tears welling in his crimson eyes. 'Come one, fucker! Tell me!" Feliciano screamed, cocking the gun.

"I-it was an accident! It r-really was!" Prussia choked, salty drops rolling down the albino's cheeks as his eyes grew larger with fear and regret. "It swear it. F-France, he challenged me t-to a duel after a fight. H-he never showed up, and the alley w-was so dark a-and Ludwig's hair was blond, I thought, I-I thought..." Prussia stammered, barely audible. He shuddered, and his head fell forward into his hands as he sank to his knees, howling.

"I-I-I'm so sorry, Bruder..." he breathed, shoulders shaking. Italy turned his head to the side and leered down at Prussia.

"F-Fratello..." Romano managed, stepping forward with an outstretched hand.

"Don't touch me, Lovino!" Feliciano barked at his brother, turning the gun on him. _KRAK!_ Romano stumbled backwards and fell to one knee, clutching his right shoulder and grimacing in pain. Italy turned back and looked down on Prussia, who was sobbing on the floor.

"Get up," commanded. Prussia didn't move. "I said get up, cocksucker!" Italy said louder as Romano winced at his kind brother's uncharacteristically harsh language. Prussia stood on shaking legs like a new calf, weeping still and whispering unintelligible prayers into his Iron Cross.

"You're disgusting," Italy spat at Gilbert. "How can you call yourself a man? You deserve to die like your brother," Italy continued, baring teeth stained pink with a bitten lip, "Shot down like a dog." His finger tightened on the slick trigger on the gun.

"Italy, don't do this!" Romano interjected. Feliciano turned to face him, his eyes glassy, emanating an aura of unbridled hatred.

"Lovino, I only want to tell you one more time," Italy cracking a frightening smile at his brother and lowering the gun a little, "You need to stay the hell out of my business. Now, you sick motherfucker," he said, turning back to face Prussia, "Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you right now. And it had better be the best fucking reason in the whole goddamn universe." Prussia's shoulders quaked and he stood in silence, his silver hair obscuring his eyes. He went what felt like an eternity with no response, then lifted his face to look Feliciano in the eyes.

"Because I'm the only thing left. I'm all that's left of Germany," he said, unwavering.

"...Wrong answer." _KRAK!_ Prussia seemed to fall in slow motion before hitting the floor. Romano stared in horror at Prussia, who now lay on the floor struggling to breathe, blood pouring from the bullet wound in his chest, just where his heart is. Lovino rushed to him and knelt.

"Prussia!" he cried.

"Please... Romano... tell Italy that I... I'm sorry..." Gilbert said, the carpet around him becoming heavy with blood. "Bruder..." he murmurred, his gaze growing distant, "I'm coming, West... he gasped finally, laying still. Romano lowered his head reverently, then closed Prussia's eyes and turned to face his brother, who was standing, sniggering.

"What are you laughing about? You're a murderer," Romano said angrily, clutching his injured shoulder. He paused, hearing distant sirens. "Do you hear that, brother? Toris and Feliks went for the police. They'll sentence you to death when they see all this," Romano siad, gesturing with a shaking hand to Prussia's lifeless form and the gun in Italy's grasp.

"No, they're not," Feliciano began to giggle madly, "Because by the time they get here, there'll be no one to sentence," he said with a disturbing grin, holding the gun up to his temple. Romano's eyes widened.

"No, you can't!" he yelled.

"What's there to lose? There's nothing left for me, fratello," Italy said, chortling. "I'll die if I'm arrested, that's for certain. Why not save them and myself the trouble by ending it all now? It'd be _so_ much easier this way, don't you agree?"

"Italy..." Romano said feebly, but he couldn't do a thing. A final shot rang though the house, and the north of the country of Italy fell to his knees, gun in hand, at his brother's feet.

The police arrived shortly afterwards, Lithuania and Poland close behind, to the two countries dead on the floor and Romano by his brother on the blood-soaked carpet, head in his hands, his shoulders shaking in deep, wracking sobs of the worst kind of pain.


End file.
